


make me a promise that time won’t erase us ( that we were not lost from the start )

by gamoraesque (camatimi)



Series: we could reach heaven (if we go through hell) [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Also for drinking. There’s lots of alcohol, F/M, Gen, Rated teen for swearing lmao, endgame spoilers, i dont know what to put here it’s 12 am, its emo ok? There’s gonna be emo-ness, love me some amnesia tropes, maybe some fluff, post Endgame, reading this back I kind of hate it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 10:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18776767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camatimi/pseuds/gamoraesque
Summary: **Post-Endgame, will feature Avengers: Endgame spoilers**Weeks after fleeing from the Guardians on Earth, Gamora seeks them out again with questions about the life she never got the chance to live.





	make me a promise that time won’t erase us ( that we were not lost from the start )

**Author's Note:**

> First things first: I’m a slow writer. Be patient with me. 
> 
> Second things second: it’s one a.m. when this is posting and I’ve been working on it for too long so here. Love you all.

_Memories are just where you laid them_

_ Drag up the waters till the depths give up their dead _

_ What did you expect to find?  _

_ Was it something you left behind? _

 

-

 

"You know, this actually eats through the stomach lining of Terrans. You really shouldn't be drinking this shit." 

Peter Quill can't help the snort that escapes his nose. "First of all, that's actually a rumor. I asked a friend." Whether his raccoon "friend" had been telling him the truth of that was another matter. He takes the glowing green beverage from the bartender's waiting tentacle. "And second, I've developed a tolerance." 

"Not a rumor, and I don't think that's how it works, Star Lord." 

"Either way." Peter waves his hand dismissively and raises the drink to his lips. God, it was disgusting. But it definitely got him drunk, and that was the whole point, so stomach-lining-destroying or not, he definitely wasn't going to stop. 

"So, no luck?" 

The bartender doesn't need to elaborate, but it does shake Peter into silence for a moment as he considers whether to even answer. "No," Peter mumbles. He pulls his eyes away from the bar and stares off towards the door. He's not waiting for anyone, but any excuse not to look forward. But then again, maybe he _is_ waiting for someone. "No luck."

"Well, I'm sure you'll find her. She can't stay away forever."

"I think she's trying anyways." 

"Can't imagine why." Rows of pointed teeth shine through in the bartender's teasing smile.

Peter can't be mad at the jab. Maybe drowning his sorrows in every local bar on Xandar wasn't exactly the best way to spend your time when you weren't searching for your long lost girlfriend, but what else could he do? Just drown in his failures back home on his ship with _no_ alcohol numbing his senses? As if. 

"I don't even know if she's alive." The words come out as barely a whisper. He didn't want to believe otherwise, but when there wasn't a constant stream of alcohol entering his system, the thoughts were hard to ignore. Everyone else was convinced she had been snapped, or transported back to her own time somehow; Nebula and Rocket especially. But he wasn't. He couldn't be. 

Was he even capable of living in a world where she didn't exist? The first time he'd lost her, and lost his will to live with her, he'd faded away entirely from this world. Was his fate in the snap pure coincidence or was it something else entirely? Who the flark knows. Not this asshole.

Either way, maybe "alive" wasn't the best word for it. Between all the time travel and multiverses and losing an entire five years of his own life in the blink of an eye, he knew she was alive. You know, somewhere. He just didn't know where or in what form.

_ (He did know where his Gamora was. He'd even tried to go back for her. Back for the body. Nebula hadn't let him.) _

God, can he just get shit-faced already? This booze was barely doing anything to numb the feelings of self hatred and failure that he'd come here with the soul intention of suppressing.

"One more." He pushes his empty glass back across the bar, but the bartender refuses to take it with a shake of his head.

"Nah. You've definitely had enough, and seeing your tab tomorrow will probably give you a heart attack. Go home, okay?"

The bartender's words and Peter's subsequent protest barely have time to register in his brain, let alone even leave his mouth when the seat next to his scrapes across the metal floor. _That was a little much_. His new barmate drops a handful of credits onto the bar as they slide easily into the seat they had just made a dramatic show of pulling out. 

"Well, I'll take another. Same as what he had." Peter can't see their face--the black hood they wear would hide their features well enough on their own, but they also happen to be angled just far enough away from him that it's impossible to get a good look--but he can tell it's a woman, even through their whisper. The newcomer's gloved hands slide the credits in the bartender's direction and with a sigh, he takes them.

"Comin' right up." 

As soon as the bartender is out of earshot, the stranger continues, "He may be right, you know. Maybe you _have_ had enough." 

"Nah. He doesn't—I'm fine. Promise." The words carry his trademark confident gusto, but the slurring effectively displaces any believability they may have carried, much to the stranger's amusement. 

They let out the smallest laugh. "So is it safe to assume, then, that you just spend all your time this inebriated? Didn't think I would be interested in that." 

Wait. 

The stranger takes that moment to turn in Peter's direction, dropping the hood and shaking out magenta curls, revealing their identity and proving what he had only just begun to figure out.

"Gamora—" the words fall out of his mouth in a choking gasp, like she had just punched him in the gut and sent him flying back into sobriety. He hadn't meant flying back literally, but here he was now, falling out of his stool and hitting the floor. His breath that he didn't think he'd even had the chance to regain was once again knocked clean out of his lungs. _Holy shit_. "Gamora!"

Her brow is furled and her eyes seem to hold concern, but the amused half smile on her lips makes him think it's not so much concern for him, and more the floor. Nevertheless, she takes her glove off, rises from her own stool, and holds out a hand to help him up all in one fluid motion. "Hi." 

He can't breathe. He also can't tell if it's because he fell out of his chair or because she's here, right in front of him. She’s here and she’s so _beautiful and it’s so surprising and he’s so happy to see her and—_

His hesitation—or, rather, his inability to focus on anything but her presence—now catches her off guard, and her waiting hand wavers. "Are you just going to stay on the floor then?" 

"N--no," he stutters, shaken from his thoughts just in time to take her waiting hand. Her hand in his is so familiar and he can’t help the small squeeze he gives her. _God, he’s missed her._ She hoists him up no problem, and breaks the skin contact as quickly as she initiated it. 

“Well I’m glad, because I don’t think this conversation would last much longer if you stayed.” 

The bartender returns then, drink in hand. He pushes it towards Gamora, “Hey, Gamora. Good to see you.” 

“Wait,” Peter scrambles back into his seat, waving his hand wildly. “Wait. Did you know she was here?”

“No… but she was here last night.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” 

“It wasn’t his place to tell you,” Gamora interjects.

_Fair_. 

“Seems like you two have a lot to talk about. I’ll leave you to it then. Don’t let him have any more of that drink.” And with that, the bartender makes his way over to the other side of the bar. 

Gamora, ever the rebellious one, pushes the drink she ordered over to Peter anyways as soon as his back was turned. Peter doesn’t want the drink though. Maybe he was more drunk than he’d originally thought—and maybe, if he hadn’t been, he would have been able to tell that the love of his life—some version of the love of his life—was here in the same bar as he was this whole time. Idiot. 

“You look great.” _Wait. No._ “You look good, I mean. Or, healthy? You look healthy. Glad to...glad to see that.” If Peter could not make a total fool of himself for two seconds in her presence that would be great. “Love the cape.” 

“It's a cloak.” 

He purses his lips, actually taking a minute to consider the difference. Yeah, she’s right, it’s a cloak. 

“Well I always...thought… you’d look good in one. So…” Suddenly, the counter of the bar was much more interesting than looking Gamora in the eye. 

Time seems to slow, then. They sit in silence for what feels like nothing and everything all at once. So much hangs in the air, but Peter doesn’t even know where to begin. The initial shock of seeing her again has worn off—kind of—and is slowly being replaced with every question he can think of. They float around them in this weird time-not-time, and he so wishes he could just pluck the right question from the air and hand it to her and just know the answer to them all. Even more than that, he wants to touch her. To hold her in his arms again and love and be loved. But he’s not an idiot—he doesn’t care what everyone else says, okay?—and he’s all too aware that that isn’t going to be an option. So, first, questions. 

“Where have you been?” Peter can barely hear the words he’s just said, but he has no doubt she heard with perfect clarity. 

“Does it matter?” 

_What?_

There she goes again, punching him back into sobriety. It slows his world again, even more than the alcohol already has, and he tries to consider his next words carefully, he _does, he swears_ , but... 

_**What?** _

He laughs, but it’s bitter and uncomfortable and maybe even a little bit crazed. “I think it does!” His voice breaks and he throws his hands out in a wild gesture that shows just how much he thinks it matters. He hits the glass and almost sends it flying off the counter, but Gamora is faster than any potential clumsiness Peter could ever have, and she catches it with ease before any liquid sloshes out onto the bar. “You kicked me in the balls and took off without a word! And you know what, maybe I wasn’t expecting you to talk to me, but you didn’t even say anything to Nebula. You just left! I don’t even know how you got off that flarking planet! Earth isn’t exactly crawling with space-worthy ships. And you know what? I haven’t been able to sleep at night not knowing you were okay. So yeah, Gamora, it matters!”

She listens to his rant patiently, and when it’s over, he has to be the one to break the staring contest they’ve silently engaged in. The angry tears burning behind his eyes make it so he can’t look at her anymore. 

“Tell me your name again. Please.” 

“Wh—” suddenly, Peter’s entire world is sucked of all color. Once again, it feels like he’s had the breath knocked out of his lungs. Up until now, he’d half hoped this whole thing was some sort of sick joke, something she and Nebula planned as a prank. He’d have forgiven her, if that were the case. And afterward they could laugh about it, kiss, and go home. 

But she doesn’t remember him.

This is real and this was happening and _she doesn’t remember him._

The smallest movement as she adjusts uncomfortably on her stool jostles him out of his thoughts, but only long enough for him to choke out a shaky, “P—Quill. It’s Quill.” 

“Just Quill? I could have sworn Nebula said—“ 

“No,” he stops her. “It’s just Quill.”

“Quill…” she lets the name linger on her tongue for a moment. The way she says it is back in that uncanny valley—it sounds like her but it’s not. It’s just not right. 

Her eyes flutter shut, lashes brushing gently across her cheekbones. She’s calm to everyone else’s eyes, but Peter can see the way her brows furrow and her lips turn down in a thoughtful frown, just barely, but enough. He’s seen that look so many times over their four years and he always thought it was so beautiful. 

Her next action, the slightest shake of her head as her gaze comes back up to meet his, tells him everything he already knew. 

“I know you’ve been searching for me. And I’ve been close behind the entire time. I felt you should know that.” 

“You’ve been following us?” his uncomfortable laugh is back. “I guess that makes sense. You’ve done a good job of avoiding us.” 

“I didn’t think I was who you were really looking for.” 

The implications of her words hang in the air like thick black smoke he doesn’t want to breathe. “What made you decide to come out of hiding then? Or am I not allowed to know that detail?” 

Her breathy laugh held that same _ not quite the same _ air as everything else in the last five minutes had. “My curiosity got the better of me, I guess.” She shrugged. “Nebula told me so much, and I want it explicitly clear that I’m here on my own terms, not because of… I don’t know. But I think you can help me.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t know when the next chapter is coming, but it’s coming I swear.


End file.
